I kiss the faces of my books…

I kiss the faces of my books

After their pages have been read,

And I touch their noble spines

Or their cheeks of leafy skin.

Inside their bodies are words–

The forge of reality is lit–

Like bloody riddles they dry

As their universe begins with,“Yes.”

On couch, on bed or bench,

I sift through cryptic meanings,

And with lantern investigate

Their curves of divine reasoning.

I return from their embrace

To rest alone in my bed,

Where dreams of death consume me,

Coiling words around my neck.

We are linked by spectating,

We are voyeurs of a deep abyss.

My soul sparkles in their memory

And my eyes are blessed with each kiss.